So The Story Goes A Little Something Like This
by A Little Illumination
Summary: It isn't every day the young bartender got to meed vigilantes on the run from the law. She figured it definitely couldn't hurt her Karma points to help them out! With a couple of new friends, the boys definitely don't know what they're in for! CxOC MxOC
1. Chapter 1

Michelle was never one to be considered a stupid girl. She was actually extremely intelligent, though she had made her fair share of, one could say, less-than-intelligent decisions. But at twenty-two, she was a college graduate who was living on her own in a city far from home, had an apartment that she wasn't sharing with anyone else, and had access to any and all booze she could ever need right downstairs from said apartment.

In her brain, this was _not_ a bad arrangement.

Sure, she had to put up with a fair few shitheads. It **was **New York City, after all. And while one would never think there was a shortage of jobs for an art major in the Big Apple, it had been a rough-and-tumble year of trying to find a job. So, at the present, she was bar-tending at some out-of-the-way place not far from Time's Square and rented the apartment above the bar. Hence the idiots she had to deal with. But the owner was a nice man, Italian, and never let any of the bar's patrons get too far with trying to hit on her. He said it was because he was a family man. Michelle decided it was because she was good for business, as a lot of the men admitted to talking to her, and she wasn't a wallflower. She had a loud laugh and was just as willing to joke and flirt as the people she was serving were.

Due to this, Michelle was used to having to usher a few guys out of the bar at the usual four a.m. closing time and locking up behind the owner. It was only then that Michelle hooked her iPod up to the bar's sound system (because really, there was only so much shitty 80's music she could take every night from the jukebox in the corner) and cleaning up shop, ready by that point to head off to sleep the morning away in a bedroom where the two east-facing windows were covered with blackout curtains.

This morning, however, noises from the alley behind the bar were keeping Michelle from being comfortable with just heading upstairs to a (what she considered) well-deserved rest. The bar had been busier than usual, so it was about 6:30 before everything was finally spotless and in place. It wasn't that Michelle was afraid someone was going to break in, definitely not that. She had known how to shoot a gun for quite a bit of her life, and keeping the shotgun under the bar clean and in working order was part of her job. However, she wasn't interested in shooting anyone this morning and she was _really_ tired. Why was it that this had to happen _today_?

She heaved a sigh of exhaustion and, picking up the shotgun, resigned herself to checking it out.

It was quick work, undoing the locks on the door in the back room. It was not quick work, though, opening the door so that whoever (or whatever) was out there wouldn't hear it. She managed it though, after about thirty seconds and **very** slow movements, and slipped out through the narrow opening. Turning around slowly, facing the back of the alley, Michelle took in two hunched figures silhouetted by the street light directly outside the alley entrance. Quickly turning the flashlight she carried on, she aimed the beam at the figures hoping it was just a couple hobos trying to take shelter for the night.

_Of course not_, she mentally snorted.

It wasn't hard to recognize the two. Their pictures were on the news constantly, both local and national. They were responsible for the deaths of some of the biggest men in the mob, and now they were sitting in the alley behind the bar where she worked, blood pouring out of one and the other now glaring at her with fierce blue eyes.

"Shit," she muttered, brownish-green eyes quickly taking in the damage done to the darker-haired man being supported by the lighter-haired one. She didn't know their names, of course, knew them only as 'The Saints' but she knew what they did for a living; also knew that if she had any sense of self-preservation, she should probably call the cops right now because _weren't they supposed to be in prison anyway_? But, shaking her head minutely, she also knew that she agreed with what they did and they never seemed to hurt those who hadn't deserved it and, to her knowledge, she hadn't killed anyone lately, which meant she was probably in the clear.

_Besides_, she thought, eyes filling with mirth, _what the hell kinda fun is it to live without breaking the rules once in awhile?_

So, making up her mind, she locked eyes with the light-haired man and said, "There's a first-aid kit inside. And I'm willing to bet my couch is better than asphalt." Eyes narrowing at his fierce glare, she bit out, "Don't look at me like that, ass. I'm trying to help you. And it sure as hell won't do my bar any good to have the cops swarming the place." He seemed to immediately catch her meaning that no, she wasn't going to turn them in and so, shoulders relaxing, he warily nodded his head.

"Aye, I suppose a couch'd be better than 'im sittin' here all night." Michelle grinned a little before looking down at the other man who was out cold.

"You gonna need any help to get him inside?" The man shook his head.

"Nah. He's me brudder an' I've lifted his arse before." She somehow managed to hide the fact that she was swooning over his accent before nodding and picking up the shotgun, rising from her crouched position.

"Inside, then." She nodded her head towards the door, quickly opening it wide enough to allow the two men through. Looking around to ensure that no one had seen what had transpired, Michelle quickly shut and bolted the door before rushing to direct the men upstairs.

* * *

It wasn't difficult to cut the shreds of the dark-haired man's shirt off. Whatever had injured him had gotten him good, and so there were only tattered remains of black cotton to quickly cut away with the kitchen scissors. _Caitlin would kill me if she saw me using cooking shears to cut a man's shirt_, Michelle thought to herself, giggling at the thought of her long-time best friend's face when it came to a kitchen. She could just hear Caitlin's voice now. _WHAT IN THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING? You'd better bleach those afterward, that shit is **NOT** sanitary!_ Not wanting to burst out laughing in front of the gorgeous pair of men in front of her, Michelle simply schooled her face into a smile, shook her head, and opened the first aid kit.

"'Scuse me, but I tink I can handle dis bit." The lighter-haired man quickly withdrew the antiseptic from one hand whilst looking dubiously at the cotton ball in the other. "I tink you might need sometin' a bit bigger than a cotton ball for dat," he said, nodding at the gash that marred his brother's stomach.

"Alright, I'll go get a rag," Michelle stood quickly, retrieving a ratty old washcloth from her linen closet. Handing the old piece of terry cloth to the man, she stepped back and allowed herself to watch as he carefully tended to his brother's wounds. "So what's your name, anyway?" The sandy-haired man shook his head a bit before cautiously answering,

"Connor. Me name's Connor. He's Murphy." Connor added his brother's name after a short pause, after seeing her incline her head towards the prone male figure on her couch. "Sorry 'bout da blood. I know it can't be easy to get outta da couch." Michelle shrugged nonchalantly, settling in the armchair and turning on the television to a random movie.

"It's alright. It's a dark fabric, a little Febreeze and most people won't be able to tell." Connor chuckled a bit while wrapping bandages tightly around his twin's stomach. "So…you're the Saints." His shoulder and arm muscles tensed immediately at the calm way this woman made her statement, sounding so sure of herself.

"Now…now why would ya go and assume sometin' like dat?" He bit out, hoping he could convince her she was wrong.

"Because the pictures they show on the T.V. of you two all the time are fairly accurate, despite what most would say." She saw him looking ready to take his brother and run, and immediately added to her statement. "Listen, I don't have a problem with what you guys do. Actually, I think what you do is extremely correct and extremely necessary. So calm down and let him rest. He needs it." Connor nodded and carefully arranged his brother's body so that Murphy was lying down in a comfortable position. Michelle immediately noted, as Connor's muscled 5'11" frame stood up, that his shirt was covered in his brother's blood.

"Shit," she cursed, noticing how much of it there was. She immediately made a mental note to pick up iron supplements and iron-rich foods when she woke up. "I have some old shirts of my dad's that I use to sleep in. I'll let you borrow one of those while I wash your shirt." She didn't give him time to answer as she walked quickly to her bedroom and removed a tee shirt from her bureau. She figured she'd point out where the restroom was for him to change. She wasn't expecting, however, to walk back to her living room and find a shirtless man standing in the middle of it.

Both Murphy and Connor were very finely crafted men, Michelle noted. She couldn't help but stare a bit at Connor's finely sculpted arm and abdominal muscles, rippling as he moved.

"Uh…oh! Here you go." She stuttered out, holding out the tee shirt. Connor grinned a little sheepishly, quickly slipping the shirt over his head as Michelle gathered the soiled one from the floor. "Feel free to make yourself comfortable," she tossed over her shoulder as she made her way to her washer. Michelle absentmindedly went through the motions of putting a load of darks in the wash and tossing Connor's shirt in with it after treating it with a cold-water rinse to get most of the life-sustaining liquid out of the dark cotton. Quickly, she went to her room and changed into athletic shorts and a tank top, her usual sleepwear, and made her way back out to the living room. She spied Connor sitting in the recliner and flipping through television channels, a beer from her fridge in his hand. She brought over a chair from her small two-seater table and made herself comfortable.

"So, I'm guessin' ya work at da bar?" Connor's thick brogue broke the comfortable silence after a few moments. She looked at him tiredly before nodding.

"Yeah, I'd just gotten off a nine-hour shift, and then cleaned for two and a half hours to make sure everything was right. So I'd been down there about twelve and a half hours before I helped y'all. Been awake way longer than that, though." She commented idly, blankly staring at the old western film on the T.V. screen. "I'm Michelle, by the way. Michelle Zehler." Connor nodded at her and grinned a little, which she fangirled over a little in her own mind.

"Connor and Murphy MacManus, for the two o' us." He nodded slightly at his brother, unconscious and now snoring on her couch. She chuckled and shook her head.

"You know, he would have needed stitches if that had been any deeper." Connor shook his head in response.

"Nah, we woulda jus' used an iron ta cauterize it. Done it before." Michelle gaped at him, mouth ajar.

"You have got to be _shitting_ me!" she exclaimed, not really believing that these two vigilantes were actually not getting any medical attention at **all**. Connor shook his head again in both response and slight bewilderment. Most women he knew didn't use foul language as often as he and his brother.

"Well, it's not exactly like we can jus' strut into any hospital in New York an' expect 'em not ta turn us in as soon as treat us, now is it?" She could tell he wasn't trying to be rude, but he came off as gruff. She had a feeling that he sometimes resented his job, but for now, it wasn't her place to ask. Tilting her head a bit to the side, she allowed a sly smile to creep across her face as an idea crossed her mind. "What's that smile for, anyhow?" Connor's voice was suspicious.

"Oh, nothing," Michelle responded airily. "But I think I just thought of the solution to all your medical problems."

* * *

So. Meet my new fic :) I know a lot of you guys are waiting for me to upload BoP, but this was actually inspired by a dream and I just couldn't get it out of my head! So, this is my foray into writing BDS fiction :D

xoxo,

Cait


	2. Chapter 2

Caitlin Danahy liked to consider herself a pretty successful twenty-two year old woman. She had graduated from NYU with her B.S. in Marketing, had a lovely two-bedroom apartment in New York City, and had a solid well-paying job that enabled her to travel and work her marketing magic whilst interacting more with people over computers and telephones than in person—an ideal job for her, as she really didn't have the highest opinion of the human race as a whole. People, in Caitlin's book, were selfish, greedy assholes who were usually out only for their own gain.

As she had such a positive view on her job, Caitlin could happily get up every morning and put on her business attire, put on her make-up and slide into walking shoes before making her way the few blocks to the office. Of course, she had her heels in the large bag she always carried with her which also contained an external hard drive and her keys, wallet, and cell phones (one for business and one for her personal contacts, of course. She didn't need those idiots from work calling her at all hours of the night). Caitlin also found it was fortunate that she was living in the same city as her long-time best friend, Michelle. They kept very different hours (as Michelle was just going to bed when Caitlin was waking up) so it wasn't always easy for them to find time to get together and have a drink, but Caitlin knew her friend was always there whenever she needed her, whether it was to have a drink after a particularly hard day or to have someone off of whom she could bounce new ideas.

Due to the fact that Caitlin didn't get to see her best friend much, she was very surprised when, at 3 in the afternoon on her first day off in _months_, her best friend barged into her apartment with two men with no previous announcement whatsoever.

Caitlin had just settled in for a nap, knowing that Michelle was probably just waking up to get ready for the start of her 6 p.m. shift at the bar and so therefore nixing any ideas about inviting her friend out for coffee. She was barely asleep when she woke up to noisy footsteps coming from her living room. Following her first response, she immediately reached over and quietly withdrew the loaded .38 Lady Smith revolver from the drawer of her nightstand. She laid it on the bed before quickly pulling on a pair of athletic shorts that were lying on her floor, as she definitely didn't need whoever the hell was in her living room getting a peek at the underwear she slept in. Cautiously, she opened the door and crept down the short hallway, keeping away from anything that might cast a shadow. She heard only the murmur of a man's voice before she flung herself into a shooting stance in the opening of the hallway: feet shoulder-width apart, one hand holding and cocking the gun as the other supported the weapon.

"Who the fuck're you and why are you in my apartment?" she barked out, not at all pleased with the revelation that there were two grown men who dwarfed her standing in her living room.

"Caitlin, you need to calm the hell down," Michelle's voice came from the entryway to the kitchen, where she was leaning with a glass of milk in one hand and a sandwich in the other. Caitlin's whole body relaxed as her chin fell against her chest, her hand reflexively un-cocking the gun and turning the safety back on as the weapon came to rest at her side.

"What. The _fuck_." Caitlin's first reaction to Michelle and her…friends' unexpected visit was not exactly what one would consider "warm and welcoming."

"Well, I missed you too." Michelle said sarcastically, raising her eyebrow at her best friend/sister figure of eight years. "Not like we haven't seen each other in weeks or anything like that. No 'hey Michelle' or 'how have you been?'" Caitlin leveled her friend with a blank stare and a very un-lady like snort.

"Yes, because obviously I was expecting you to show up with two men I don't know on my day off while I was asleep. Because this is just so goddamn _normal_ that I should be used to it, right?" To the casual observer, it probably looked like Caitlin was about to shoot her friend in the head. But then the blank stares on the girls' faces melted into smiles, giggles, and hugs with "I MISSED YOU!" ringing out between them. Connor and the weak but conscious Murphy exchanged confused glances, their matching stares spelling out their thoughts.

_Women_, they thought, shaking their heads and resigning themselves to knowing they would never understand.

Caitlin, remembering that she had two other guests as well who she needed to greet, turned around and looked the two men up and down with a critical eye, hip cocked to the side and arms crossed across her chest. After two minutes or so of uncomfortable silence, the reddish-brown-haired girl turned to her taller friend and said "What the fuck exactly are you doing bringing the Saints to my apartment anyway?" The two men immediately locked eyes with each other and tensed their shoulders. Michelle laughed outright at their reaction.

"I _told_ you!" she cried, her elation in their discomfort obvious. "I _told _you she'd figure it out without us having to say anything!" Connor and Murphy shifted back and forth on their feet uncomfortably, wondering how many other people on the street recognized them the few times a month they went out during the day. "Aw, now don't go looking like that. I wouldn't have recognized you if I didn't look at you for a few minutes without you moving away, and I've always said that Caitlin has super powers of observation. She's a people-watcher. She can figure out your little habits and your tells and can recognize you pretty fast, even if you dye your hair or wear colored contacts."

"Though that would definitely be a shame," Caitlin muttered softly, walking towards the kitchen. "Covering up such pretty eyes."

Murphy, ignoring the tension still emanating in waves from his twin, hesitantly pulled a pack of Marlboros out of his coat pocket.

"Do ya care if we light up in here?" Caitlin shook her head in the negative.

"There's an ashtray over there on the bookshelf. Just crack the window and take a seat near it and make yourselves comfortable. And Michelle, you still haven't told me the purpose behind this little visit," she added, grabbing a Coke from the fridge and made a motion towards her guests, seeing if they wanted anything. The twins shook their heads, and Michelle looked at her dubiously.

"Do I not already have a glass of milk in my hand, Doctor Watson?" she asked. Caitlin, once again, snorted and shook her head.

"Well I figured I'd ask, as you're the girl who can sit down to breakfast with three or four different drinks in front of you." Michelle's joking expression quickly transformed into a glare. "Don't look at me like that. You look about as ferocious as a drowned cat, Holmes." Michelle smiled again and giggled slightly, plopping down on the couch.

"Basically, we're here because you have medical experience that Connor, Murphy, and I do not," she explained, nodding towards the twins. Murphy shifted slightly in the chair he occupied, running a gentle hand along his abdomen. Sharp blue-green eyes caught the movement.

"I have some ibuprofen if you need some," she offered, prepared to go retrieve the pills. Murphy shook his head, however.

"Nah, it's fine. Jus' needs a bit o' rest an' I'll be back on my feet in no time." Caitlin nodded, subconsciously noting his body language as he spoke. He seemed far more comfortable in the cozy interior of her home than his brother did. In fact, it seemed that where one lacked something, the other made up for it…

"Are you two twins?" She questioned, surprising the two men. Most didn't make the connection, since they had two different hair colors and Connor had a slightly thicker build.

"Aye. How'd ya know?" Connor questioned, genuinely interested. Caitlin chuckled slightly and shook her head.

"You seem to accommodate each other in ways that just normal siblings wouldn't. When one moves, the other moves; one starts a sentence and the other finishes. It's like you're two halves of a whole. You may not be identical, and your personalities are completely different of course, but you can tell that you two are connected by something." The men nodded, glancing at each other before looking back at the two women in front of them.

Michelle was taller and bigger-boned than her friend, though Caitlin wasn't petite. Connor guessed that Murphy's savior stood around 5'8," as she was only a few inches shorter than him. Michelle's build was athletic, especially her legs. He guessed she probably stayed active, though with her schedule as she had described it only hours before he couldn't see how. Brown shoulder-length hair with a curl at the end, a round face, pretty eyes… all in all, he didn't find her unattractive to look at. Just the opposite, in fact. And any faults that people would try to find in her looks would be more than made up for with her vibrant personality.

Caitlin, on the other hand, was short. He didn't mean petite; really, he just meant that he and his brother stood a half foot taller than her, which put her standing at around 5'5". Then again, he supposed that was an average height for American women. She did have very pretty hair, he'd give her that; a deep reddish-brown color. _Auburn_, his brain supplied for him. _Her hair is dark auburn_. She had pale, clear skin and sharp eyes. The blue-green orbs were taking in his every move as he sat there. Michelle wasn't lying when he said the girl could figure out what made you tick. A curvy figure most would find attractive, with nice legs that weren't hidden a bit by the athletic shorts she wore at the moment and a tiny waist. But he had always gone more for athletic girls than curvy ones, himself. _I can' say dat for Murph though,_ he thought with amusement, spying the way his brother was raking his eyes over the smaller girl's form.

Caitlin didn't miss the way he was watching her either. _Shit, not like I mind_, she thought to herself. _Just the accent turns me on, much less the fact that he's a prime example of the male species_. Instead of voicing her thoughts or returning the Irishman's favor of undressing her with his eyes, she turned to face her friend.

"So what medical expertise is it that I apparently have? You _do _realize I'm a marketing agent, correct? I make things seem awesome so people buy them." Michelle nodded her acknowledgement of the stated facts.

"Yes, brilliant, as your best friend I _do_ happen to know that, thank you. But I also know that your mother has been a nurse for over thirty years and a wound care specialist for a good time of that and that you can take care of a lot of wounds better than most doctors. You can also get your mother to send you things. _And_, you know how to give stitches." Caitlin pondered for a moment and saw where Michelle was coming from.

"True, very true. I suppose you've already patched up whatever was wrong with Murphy?" Caitlin inclined her head towards the injured twin. The man's head snapped up at the mention of his name, not realizing she had caught it from Michelle's previous mention of him.

"How'd ya know I was 'urt?" he asked suspiciously. He didn't know this woman; it was entirely possible that she had some connection to the thug that had knifed him. Caitlin chuckled.

"The way you're moving makes it obvious that you have an abdominal wound, probably a pretty rough one. You're trying to slouch and yet keep your back straight, so as not to move the edges of the abrasion so the skin can continue to knit back together. And you rubbed your hand across it earlier and winced, which is why I offered you ibuprofen. What, did you think I just randomly offer pain meds to every person who walks through my door?" Murphy had to admit, the girl was sharp. Maybe she was distantly related to Smecker.

He supposed only time would tell the answer to that question, however.

* * *

There's chapter two :D I was trying to get it up to about 3,000 words, but only wound up with a little over 2,000 :P

Danae Jo, you were the first reviewer on this fic, and for that, Michelle and I thank you whole-heartedly! :D

Also, thank you to my best friend in the world Michelle, who is beta-reading this and thoroughly enjoying the fact that I introduced her to "The Boondock Saints" :)

xoxox,

Cait


	3. Chapter 3

It was not in Connor MacManus' usual nature to look a gift horse in the mouth. The two brunettes currently sharing a table with he and his brother had truly been a godsend in past months. _Months,_ he thought. It was difficult to fathom that he had known the girls for almost half a year already; even harder to come to terms with his personally obvious attraction to the taller woman. Michelle never seemed to be more than a phone call or half-hour walk away whenever he needed to talk to someone who _wasn't_ related to him.

He knew she kept hours similar to his, as well, which was definitely helpful. He never had to interrupt her in the middle of a work day if he needed to talk. He _did _usually wind up awaking her, though, which made him feel bad. But she always made sure to assure him that his frequent visits were never a problem, and she was always there when he needed her. He really did consider her to be more like his personal angel than his friend.

Caitlin, though….his relationship with Caitlin was more business-like. Yes, they got along very well, and she was a perfectly nice girl (with a mouth like a sailor…her and Michelle both) but the way she could look at him and seem to realize what he was thinking was slightly unnerving and he couldn't bring himself past that discomfort to try and get closer to her. His dear twin, however, didn't have this problem. Murphy was completely at ease with the auburn-haired female, never hesitating to lean over and whisper something in her ear to bring a smile to her face when she seemed to go completely blank during a conversation. It was interesting to watch; Caitlin's features would smooth out and show nothing, her eyes would shutter off…and once Murphy noticed, he'd immediately lean over and bring his lips close to her ear, whispering something only loud enough for the two of them, and immediately a smile would light her face again.

Turning his attention back to his own female point of interest, Connor took in the grin on Michelle's face. They were all sharing a table in a pub, together as a group for the first time in a month or two. He knew Murphy didn't see Caitlin a lot outside these gatherings, as she seemed more inclined to be seen when she was needed medically, which had been more frequent on some of their more recent jobs. Connor and his brother had finally taken out the last Yakavetta underdog, so they were waiting for more trouble to pop up as it always did. The brothers had talked about it often—was this what they were going to do until they met their end as Da did? Were they never going to get to settle down and have families of their own? Were they not going to ever have the luxury of being able to keep normal hours and come home to sit down to dinner with their wives, children, grandchildren? Connor couldn't bring himself to accept that. Surely He couldn't just hang them out to dry completely. Connor didn't usually openly admit his feelings, but he felt more alive than he had since they first started their work for the Lord over ten years before due to his growing relationship with Michelle. Even with their twelve-year age difference (Michelle had turned twenty-three in March) it seemed she was his perfect opposite, but also his perfect fit.

"So, Connor," Michelle's voice broke his thought-process and returned his mind to the real world. "What's the plan for the next job?" She made sure to keep her voice low so those who didn't need to know couldn't overhear anything.

"We don't have one set up at the moment," he replied, Murphy and Caitlin both paying attention now as well. He knew Caitlin's interest probably only stemmed as far as wondering when she would have to patch them up again, where as Murphy was more interested in when he got to have another "bit o' fun." "Smecker will let us know when another threat pops up. For now, it'll just be run-of the mill hits at strip joints and such." Caitlin and Michelle both nodded, and Murphy slumped in his seat. He no longer drew any excitement from hits like those; the ones that had made up a good part of the beginning of their career. Connor caught the long glance that Murphy shot to his right, at the seemingly oblivious marketing agent, and knew Murphy would much rather be spending his time with her than taking easy shots at horny thugs.

Yeah, well, Connor would much rather be with Michelle. But he didn't have that choice, because they were chosen by the Lord and so things like love and families and a future had to come second to that. And with the sullen look his twin shot him at that moment, he knew Murphy knew it too.

"Well, I'd better go," Caitlin politely excused herself from the table. "I have work in the morning and I've got a new client coming in, so I'll have to be on top of my game. I'll see y'all later, yeah?" She grinned at them all, and the grin softened a bit when she came to Murphy's upturned face. But she quickly slipped on her brown wool pea-coat and slipped away from the table to her waiting car outside. Michelle sighed quietly.

"I almost miss her accent," she admitted, responding to the curious glances the Irish twins had given her. Murphy raised an eyebrow.

"What accent are ya talkin' about?" he questioned. She laughed slightly and shook her head.

"How much do you _actually_ know about her, Murphy? I mean, I know you fancy her and all," she rolled her eyes when his look became defensive. "Oh, don't even try to deny it. Your brother and I both know that she's got you eating out of the palm of her hand if she'd bother to look and realize it." The look changed to one of grudging acceptance and Michelle gently patted him on the shoulder. "But the truth is, I doubt you know much about her at all. She's a pretty private person nowadays, especially when it comes to men. I wouldn't be surprised in the slightest if you felt like you've known her forever and yet actually know basically nothing." Murphy grew outraged at her statement.

"An' what tha' fuck am I s'posed to know?" He demanded.

"What's her favorite movie? Her favorite color? Her favorite animal? What's her favorite season? What does she usually do in her spare time? Does she know how to cook? Does she prefer to bake? Shit, Murphy, what's her _last name_?" Murphy opened his mouth to respond and then snapped it shut, realizing she was right: he didn't know the answer to _any_ of those questions.

"I…I don' know." He admitted softly, seemingly defeated by the fact that while he thought he had been getting to know her, he actually knew nothing about the auburn-haired woman who had captured his attention. He knew she was an NYU graduate, due to her diploma. He knew she was a marketing agent because Michelle had told them after the three left the twins' first visit with the younger female. He knew she bit her nails only because he had seen her doing so. And he knew…he knew that he could make her smile. Michelle took in his heart-broken expression and her eyes softened. Connors softened at the fact that she seemed so empathetic towards his brother.

"There's always hope, you know. But she's a hard nut to crack. There's really only one major problem standing in the way." Murphy's head shot up so fast that Connor was sure it should have given him whiplash. If it did, the brunette man didn't show it as he begged with his eyes for Michelle to inform him of this obstacle. "It's your job, Murphy." She said quietly, and right then he could feel his heart break. Murphy couldn't get around that obstacle; he had been ordered by the Lord to do His work, he couldn't just quit a day-job. "Don't get me wrong," Michelle rushed to explain. "It isn't that she disagrees with what you do; as a matter of fact, she thinks it's great. But Caitlin's at the stage in her life where she's looking for a man to settle down with, to have a family and a life with. Can you look me in the eye and honestly say that you'd be able to provide a safe, stable home for a family with what you do for a living?" Murphy placed his laced hands on the table and, focusing his stare on them, shook his head in the negative.

Connor moved to stand. "Come on, Murph. We probably need ta get back to de apartment; see if Smecker's dropped anyting off." Murphy shook his head again.

"Nah, you go ahead," he muttered. "I tink I'll have a few more. I need it right now." Connors blue eyes bored into their mirror reflection settled into another face before nodding slowly.

"Alright. I'll walk Michelle home then," he said. "You know you can call if I need ta come getcha later." Murphy nodded, flagging down the waitress again. Connor sighed and turned to Michelle who had already shrugged her coat on and was standing by his side.

The walk was silent for a time, before Michelle turned to her Irish companion, her voice apologetic. "I didn't mean to upset him," she began quietly, eyes pleading. "But he deserved to know that with what you guys do, it would be the exact opposite of Caitlin's nature to settle down with him." Connor nodded before scuffing one of his boots on the ground and taking a drag of his freshly-lit cigarette. Michelle could tell he wasn't in the mood to want to respond to what she had said, but at least it was out there now and she could _maybe_ stop feeling so guilty about upsetting her crush's brother.

Yeah, she had a crush on Connor. _Big surprise_, she snorted mentally. _A man who looks like that and has that accent…who __**wouldn't**__ have a crush on him?_ Her mental question remained unanswered as they reached the opening to the bar. Michelle had her keys in hand and, making a quick decision, turned to Connor and invited him upstairs. He seemed wary for a few seconds but nodded his head slowly, following her up the back stairs to the separate entrance to her living space.

Upon entering the living room he was now so familiar with, Connor quickly shed his jacket and boots and picked up the remote, turning on the news. Michelle, on the other hand, disappeared into her room for a few moments, returning in athletic shorts, a _Ramones_ tee shirt, and had a sketch book and a box of artist's chalk in her hands.

Connor knew she wasn't going to offer him anything to drink. They had been hanging out like this for months, whether it was just the two of them or whether Murphy was there as well. Her exact words to him were along the lines of "you have two functional legs and I am not here to serve you when I am not working. You know where the fridge is if you fucking want anything," so he knew if he wanted a beer, he could go get it.

Resigning himself to getting his own drink, he quickly got up, walked past Michelle's current seat on the couch, and retrieved a beer from her fridge. Quickly popping the cap off, he strolled up behind her casually, seeing what she was doing.

"What're ya doin'?" He questioned, tilting his head at the multiple shapes on the page.

"Doodling. I don't really have a particular subject in mind," Michelle responded absentmindedly, continuing to press the chalk to the page in soft strokes, blending it out with her fingers. Connor reached down and softly brushed his thumb across the page, picking up bits of chalk dust before withdrawing.

"Hey, Michelle?" he caught her attention, sitting down sideways on the couch so as to face her. "You have somethin' on yer face." Her hand immediately came up to her cheek, trying to find the imaginary mess.

"Where?" She questioned, not finding it.

"Right…there!" he said, reaching out a hand as if to brush it away for her before running his chalk-coated thumb along her cheekbone. Michelle's mouth opened and closed and an odd look came on her face while she pouted at him.

"There's chalk on my face, isn't there?" she questioned flatly, already knowing the answer was 'yes.' Connor nodded, trying to stifle his laughter.

"Aye, there is," he answered. She nodded simply and shut her sketchbook and chalk, placing the items on the small table to her left, beside the couch. She then laced her fingers together and placed her hands in her lap.

"Get it off," she said, tone light as she watched his reaction. Connor's eyebrow swiftly rose, a questioning look seeming to ask 'are you serious?' and she nodded. "I said: get. The chalk. Off. My face." He nodded hesitantly, setting his beer down on the floor. Gently, he held her face in his right hand and wiped the smudge off with his left, locking eyes with her. He leaned in slightly, inching towards her face, and waiting for her to jump up and ask him what the hell he was doing. But the reaction never came, and he couldn't help himself anymore. He sweetly, chastely pressed his lips to hers, trying to pour his heartache and longing into this one close-lipped kiss that he wasn't sure he'd ever receive again.

Only seconds passed before he felt one of Michelle's hands lace through his hair, and the other rest on his shoulder. Boldly, he allowed his tongue to trace the seam of her lips, and delved in as soon as she lowered her jaw. Quickly his beer and her sketch book were forgotten. Connor didn't think of his poor twin, sitting alone drinking himself to the floor over a woman he couldn't have. Michelle didn't think of her best friend, crying at home because she wanted a man who could never give her the life she wanted.

The both had something far more personal to focus on, at that moment.

* * *

And there's chapter three :D

There's a connection that I'm waiting on someone to make...have any of you figured it out yet?

Once again, thank you to my darling friend Michelle for beta-ing parts of this chapter (part I kept a surprise for her!) and I hope you all enjoyed it :D

xoxoxox,

Cait


	4. Chapter 4

**PLEASE READ BEFORE YOU CONTINUE.**

**If you have ever self-harmed in the past or if you are currently trying to stop self-harming, THIS CHAPTER MAY BE TRIGGERING. If you think that this chapter will in ANY way tempt you to harm yourself, _PLEASE_ let me know and I will be happy to send you the chapter without any of the triggering material. I do not want to tempt any of you. If you are attempting to end self-harm, I would recommend you calling the SAFE (Self-Abuse Finally Ends) hotline. Please know that there are people out there like you who are willing to help.**

**Thank you.  
**

* * *

Caitlin was trying really hard to resist the urge she had to slam her head onto the surface of her quartz countertops as she listened to Michelle admonishing her over Caitlin's "relationship" with Murphy. It wasn't even a relationship, for Christ's sake. They were friends. Friends who were, apparently, mutually attracted to one another.

"…I'm just saying, Caitlin, that maybe you should stop stringing the guy along. At least have the guts to tell him you aren't interested in what he has to offer." Caitlin stood up straighter, continuing to stir the bowl of brownie batter in front of her.

"Listen," Caitlin began her response slowly, picking and choosing words in her mind to attempt not to come off harshly. "I know you're in your love-filled wonderland with Connor right now, but let me explain something that you haven't bothered asking yet: it isn't that I'm 'not interested,' but rather that I wouldn't be able to bring myself to settle down as the wife of someone who can't promise to be by my side until death do us part." Michelle glanced at her absent-mindedly, drumming her fingers on the counter that made up the bar area that looked into Caitlin's kitchen.

"He would be with you 'until death do us part,'" Michelle pointed out. "It's just more likely that his death wouldn't be of natural causes." Caitlin shot a glare that could have melted glaciers at her best friend.

"Yes. Thank you for reminding me that the man I'm interested in is in constant mortal danger. Thank you for that." She bit out, reminding herself that throwing the glass bowl in her hand would only wind up with an angry best friend, a broken bowl, and brownie batter all over her apartment.

Probably not the best idea.

So, she simply ground her teeth and kept listening to Michelle list the reasons that Caitlin should cut ties with Murphy outside of just being the "team" medic. "For Christ's fucking sakes," Caitlin finally cried, slamming the bowl down and resting her palms flat on either side of it. "Is there some reason that you won't just drop the goddamned subject already?" Michelle huffed, upset.

"Well, _sorry_," she answered sarcastically. "But Connor's really upset that Murphy's upset, and Murphy's upset because of you, so the least you can do is fix it!" Immediately, Caitlin looked away.

"Oh, I understand now," she said softly, showing Michelle that her friend was now truly pissed. "You're not upset because it's hurting Murphy, and you're not upset because it's hurting me. You're not upset that there are two people with feelings mixed into this whole mess; you're upset because it's fucking up your time with _Connor_." Caitlin spit his name like it was poison. "Well you know what? Fine. I'm done. Find another goddamned medic, and I won't have anything to do with them anymore. Does that fix your fucking problem?"

Michelle was shocked. She wasn't expecting Caitlin to blow up, but Michelle wasn't just going to sit back and watch her lover worry constantly over his brother. She knew Caitlin could fix the whole mess, and so she had been berating her for the past forty-five minutes over the subject. It seemed trying to get her friend to see what would be best for the group wasn't going to be so easy after all.

"You know we can't just 'find another medic,' Caitlin. There's nobody the boys would trust enough to sew them up now, and no one they would trust to inform them of their identity." Caitlin started shaking her head.

"Then I guess you'd better tell them not to get injured. I'll talk to you later." Michelle didn't miss the obvious order to vacate the apartment so, with an angry huff and a slam of the door, Caitlin found herself alone in her apartment once more. She walked slowly to the door and locked all three locks before sliding down the solid wooden structure, burying her face into her knees and sobbing pitifully.

* * *

"So now we don' have a medic, an' we've lost a friend while we're at it," Murphy growled, pacing back and forth across the MacManus' apartment. Michelle was seated next to Connor on the worn sofa, wringing her hands at the obvious displeasure emanating from both of the boys. While Connor was upset, he wasn't about to let a fight break out.

"She was jus' tryin' to 'elp, Murph. Caitlin coulda fixed dis and didn't." Murphy whirled around, glaring angrily at his twin.

"What tha fuck are ya sayin'? If you two 'ad jus let us handle de situation like adults we wouldn' be in dis mess right now!" he barked out, the veins in his neck straining as he whipped out a cigarette and lit it. He took a long drag before slowing to stand near the window, staring through the glass in the general direction of Caitlin's apartment.

"Murphy, this wasn't just about _you_, you know," Michelle stated angrily, running her hands over her face and through her hair. "Caitlin has problems of her own that have been going on for _years_, and this situation definitely wasn't helping." Murphy and Connor both looked at her curiously, silently asking for her to elaborate. She shook her head in the negative. "Sorry, boys, but no. It's not my business to share. If she wants you to know, it'll be her that tells you unless it's a dire emergency." She sighed heavily. "But, if it makes you feel better, we can all go over to her apartment and I'll apologize for how I went about things." The boys looked at each other, communicating silently in a way that for the most part only twins can before looking back to Michelle and nodding. The three then quickly slipped into their light-weight jackets (finally it was starting to warm up!) and left the apartment.

* * *

It only took the absence of noise once they entered Caitlin's fifth-floor abode to let Michelle know that something was wrong. Knowing the boys were outside waiting on her to come down and get them, she wasted no time in quickly combing through the apartment for any sign of life other than the fish bowl on a sideboard in the living room. Searching through the master bedroom, the office, both bathrooms, the living room, and the laundry room all wielded no sign of her missing friend. "Caitlin?" she called out hesitantly, stepping softly into the kitchen hoping beyond hope that the shorter girl would be there.

She wasn't.

But several things immediately struck out at Michelle, as the kitchen was _never_ in this sort of disarray; there was a dirty pan still sitting on the stove with cooking utensils thrown in it, though the stove was off. A bottle of small blue pills had been spilled over the counter, the cap thrown across the room and the bottle overturned. Michelle quickly scooped the Prozac back into the prescription bottle, counting as she cleaned. Fifty-six pills, an entire month's supply, went back into the bottle that had been picked up—Michelle checked the bottle—two and a half weeks beforehand. Caitlin had been off her antidepressants for almost three weeks, if not longer. Michelle knew Caitlin was infamous for not ordering her meds before she really needed them. Looking around for any other clues, Michelle caught sight of the one thing that told her she needed to find her friend, . Throwing down the now capped bottle, she rushed out to the car.

Jumping in the back seat, she shocked the boys when she immediately started tossing out orders.

"The pier. Now. Go, go, _GO_!" she yelled, slamming her hand on the back of the driver's seat.

"Fer fuck's sake, Michelle," Connor exclaimed. "What da hell is goin' on?" Murphy looked at her with concern.

"Remember those problems I told you that she's been dealing with for years?" Michelle questioned quickly. As the boys nodded, she said with exasperation, "She's clinically depressed. She's been off her meds for three weeks and she has a history of self-harm. She always used to go to the pier when she was having a spell during college. So, again I say: GO TO THE GODDAMNED PIER!" Her voice reached a crescendo at the end of her explanation and the boys immediately buckled their seatbelts and threw the car into gear before speeding off.

* * *

It took Michelle less than five seconds to unbuckle her seatbelt and race out of the car as the vehicle pulled to a stop at the pier. In the moonlight and with the help of the one meager street lamp, it wasn't difficult to make out the female silhouette standing near the edge of the pier. The boys quickly jumped out to join Michelle as they saw her approach, and then heard a muffled scream.

"Caity…Caitlin, what have you _done_?" They heard Michelle mutter repeatedly as they came closer. Caitlin replied with a tired, almost drunken-sounding giggle.

Their steps came to a halt as they finally came within eight feet of the girls and saw the thick, dark liquid that was making trails down Caitlin's legs.

"Caitlin…Caitlin, put de knife down, now." Connor said calmly, inching towards her. He hoped to somehow remove the paring knife from her right hand so she could cause no more harm to her own legs.

Now he realized why he had never seen her in shorts.

Murphy, he could see, was shaking like a Chihuahua, and had once again shown his nervous habit of biting on his thumb. He jerked his head towards the small girl, hoping Murphy could restrain her while he grabbed the knife. But his brother continued to nibble away at his digit, his blue eyes filled with fear. Both watched with unconcealed horror as she swiftly brought the cutlery across her leg again.

"Caitlin! What the fuck are you doing?" Michelle cried, trying to talk some sense into her friend. "You need to stop this now. We can take you home, get you bandaged up, get you back on your medicine. It will be _okay_." Caitlin turned to face them, and the three were surprised by the completely blank look on her face. Her eyes reflected no emotion, seemingly empty and lifeless. Her body was relaxed. Her denim shorts were stained at the hem with blood, and her black tank top couldn't have been doing much to protect her from the chill of the early spring. With black flip-flops on her feet, she looked more prepared to go to a beach than to be on a pier in the late hours of the evening.

"And I…I took the path less traveled by. And that has made all the difference." She said listlessly, gazing past them to where the moon was hanging over a warehouse. Her voice was different. A sweet southern drawl Connor had never heard from her, or from anyone in New York.

"_What the fuck is that supposed to mean_?" Murphy hissed to Michelle, who shrugged her shoulders in response, never taking her eyes off her friend. All of them flinched as the knife, loosely held in Caitlin's hand, slipped down to the pier, making a loud **thud!** The pale girl turned blank eyes back to her friends.

"….I'm tired." She spoke listlessly, before her eyes rolled back and she plummeted down to the wood beneath their feet.

* * *

Caitlin groaned as returned to consciousness. Looking around through bleary eyes, she realized she was in her room. Funny, last thing she remembered was being on the pier. The sweet, sweet feeling of pain, then… _Shit_, she thought to herself, sitting up quickly. _Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit_. They were there; she knew Michelle must have told them where she'd be and had them drive her there, but they knew. That was what made the biggest impact on her brain was that _they knew and they weren't supposed to and oh God what was she going to do now_? Right after this thought struck her, she realized she shouldn't have sat up so quickly and immediately put a hand to her head as the room whirled around her. She settled back to her pillows right as Murphy walked in the room.

He didn't say anything, and she couldn't find it in her to say anything. He held out four pills and a large glass of iced water. She sat up slowly this time, accepting them with a raised eyebrow.

"Iron supplements an' Tylenol." He spoke softly, avoiding her gaze. She nodded, downing all four pills in a gulp of water and wincing at the taste as one of the pills touched the back of her tongue. She nodded her thanks to him, setting the glass down on her bedside table and fluffing up her pillows behind her to lean back comfortably as he pulled the chair from next to her window over to sit beside the bed. He propped his arms on the armrests and tangled his fingers together, regarding her with a look she couldn't decipher. She decided it was safer to stare at the wall.

The moment seemed to stretch on endlessly; him watching her, and her watching the wall. Finally, Caitlin couldn't take the silence anymore and moved her head to regard the dark-haired Irishman out of the corner of her eye.

"Green," she said softly, wanting to smile as his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Wha'?" he questioned, wondering where the random utterance had come from.

"My favorite color. It's green." She replied, resuming staring at the wall. He leaned into her, his body language telling her to explain. "Michelle told me what she said to you at the bar." His eyebrows rose in recognition of the conversation that had taken place months before.

"Oh," he said softly, understanding now. She nodded slightly, only a slight incline of her head towards him. He leaned back in the chair again, not knowing what to say.

"My favorite book is a tie between _A Separate Peace_ and _Memoirs of a Geisha_," she continued, surprising him as she continued listing facts about herself. Her accent was the same as it was on the pier, a sweet southern lilt drawing out her usually crisp words. "I prefer dogs to cats, but my favorite animal is manatees. I like to cook, even though I usually eat take-out. Michelle says I make the best fried chicken she's ever had. I like to bake too, though. I curse like a sailor when I'm not at the office. I write a lot, and I read even more. I don't trust people easily. I've only had one serious relationship during my life, since I started dating at fifteen; that was while I was in college.

"I'm from Georgia, but I've lived a lot of places besides Georgia. I met Michelle my freshman year in high school. I graduated from New York University a year ago, and I have a job that I love. I like shoes," she paused and giggled, a bigger smile overtaking her face. "Okay, so I _love _shoes. Especially heels and boots. I know how to shoot a gun, and keep one in my bedside drawer and have one that I carry in my purse. I have a concealed weapons permit, and I want to move to Ireland. I want an Irish Wolfhound and I want to name it 'Tiny' or 'Tyke' or something completely stereotypical like that. Or maybe I'll name it 'Beast' or 'Monster' or something from a novel like 'Rhett' or 'Atticus.' I haven't quite decided. I want to get married and have three children, two boys and a girl. I want to be sickly happy with my family until my children grow up and have families and have to take care of me and my husband instead of us taking care of them for a change." She laced her hands together, rotating her thumbs around one another. Murphy felt a small grin overtake his face as he leaned forward and extended his right hand in a peace offering.

"I think I can work with tha'. Nice ta meet ya, Caitlin. I'm Murphy." Caitlin hesitated for a moment before placing her right hand in his own, and they shook firmly. Murphy felt his breath catch in his throat at the smile that overtook her face. He thought he had missed the thousand-watt smiles from before, but he had been wrong. He realized now that what he had been getting were fake smiles; _plastic_ smiles. What he saw on her beautiful face now was nothing short of breathtaking, and he knew he never wanted to see her with anything less than that smile again.

From outside of the door, just beyond view, a very relieved Michelle grinned, covered her mouth to stifle her giggles, and ventured back to the living room to join her boyfriend.

Perhaps things would work out in the end after all.

* * *

**_And there's chapter four (: I hope you all enjoyed! _**

**_I have a riddle that I am waiting for you all to figure out. I have given two hints to a devoted reader already, so I shall give the same two hints to the rest of you:_**

**_1. The answer is in the character names._**

**_2. Look carefully at the names, and then the author's notes for previous chapters._**

**_Hope this helps you all figure it out!_**

**_Love,_**

**_Cait  
_**


	5. Chapter 5

**_Disclaimer: Boondock Saints is not, and never shall be my property. All rights go to their respective people. All I own are the plot to this story and all OCs contained therein. _**

* * *

Paul Smecker was not a man easily fooled. Actually, that was really an understatement—Paul Smecker was a verifiable genius who could figure just about anything out. He had been "dead" to the United States Federal Government for several years, and devoted all of his time to finding targets for his ever-wonderful….what were they? Clients? Friends? Anyway, he was the one who found those who needed to be knocked off.

So one can easily assume that Paul Smecker being confused was a very rare thing, indeed. But upon walking into a certain Irish pub on a crisp afternoon in November to meet the boys, he was very confused that there were two women at the table as well—two women who did not appear to be inclined towards moving anytime soon. He managed to smooth his features into a neutral expression as he approached the table, unbuttoning his run-of-the mill (but still designer and classically fashionable, thank you) trench coat and seating himself at the end of the table as eight eyes turned in his direction.

"Well, this is certainly unexpected. Not just one, but _two _women who can put up with the MacManus twins. It's a miracle." The two girls both sported wide grins at the looks of indignation on the twins' faces. The smaller and paler of the two women quickly reached out a welcoming hand, shaking his own over the table as she introduced herself.

"Hi, you must be Smecker. I'm Caitlin, and I have to say that we definitely take turns on putting up with them. Generally I take care of one as she takes care of the other," Paul grinned at her humor, noting how she sat back and curled up under the protective arm Murphy had cast around her. He turned his head to the other woman, who smiled and waved and said, "Hey! I'm Michelle."

"Well, hello, girls," Smecker began, unsure as to how much they knew. Connor smirked at how uncomfortable Smecker seemed to be and let out a chuckle before speaking.

"Dey know everyt'ing, Smecker," he said easily, allowing himself to revel in the shock in Smecker's eyes while taking a drink of his Guinness. Murphy let out a mirth-filled chuckle and the girls both laughed openly.

"Well, then," Smecker said, rolling up his shirt sleeves and leaning forward onto the table. "I guess I'm free to speak then?" They all nodded, (almost in unison, which Paul noted was rather creepy) so he cleared his throat and began to speak. "This is a new guy; popped up totally out of the friggen' blue. He's never been heard of before, and in fact it looks like he's ex-military. A sniper, apparently. Possibly special forces. Name is Daniel Black." Paul took in how high Caitlin's right eyebrow rose, contorting her face into one of pure displeasure at the mention of the name, as well as how Michelle kept shooting worried glances across the table that she was trying not to make obvious.

Best not to make any new enemies, he supposed. He'd ask her about her reaction later. At the moment, though, he filed away the information and continued briefing the boys about their newest big-wig target.

"It's not gonna be easy," Smecker said, taking a sip of his water and doing his best to make sure the boys knew what they were dealing with. This wasn't just another mobster who was trying to make a living with illegal dealings; this was an ex-soldier who had a bone to pick with someone and he was planning on getting his revenge. "This is the kinda guy who knows how to make things look like accidents; he can pick off his targets from over a mile away."

Absentmindedly, Caitlin muttered something under her breath about needing to pick up more bandages.

"So, what yer tellin us," Murphy began, lacing his fingers together and leaning on the table, "is that you're sendin' us after a man who can kill us from a mile away without us even knowin' where he's standin'?" The aggravation in his voice became perfectly clear by the end of his question. Smecker nodded his head somberly.

"That's exactly what I'm tellin' ya," he replied, ever-observant eyes catching the motion of Michelle grabbing Connor's hand under the table. Murphy was busy shooting worried glances towards his own lady friend, who appeared to have drifted off into her own world. Her eyes were shaded and her arms were crossed, and she stared at the table with a determined furrow to her brow. Suddenly, she spoke up.

"What's his objective?" she asked. "If he's ex-military, he's not going to risk everything he's got for nothing…his training wouldn't allow that. He has to have an objective." Smecker noted that she obviously had some sort of previous knowledge of military workings and nodded in assent to her inquiry.

"Indeed, he does, but I haven't quite pieced it together yet and it involves a lot of files that I wasn't going to risk bringing into a pub, no matter which pub it is. We'll have to set another meeting at my new…_office_," at this, Smecker nearly winced with distaste, "to discuss this further." All four nodded (again, nearly in unison. _Creepy_.) and so Smecker leaned back in his chair to make himself more comfortable. "So, wanna tell me how you two met up with these lovely ladies?" Grins were shared by all over the table as Michelle launched into the tale of a late night at the bar and some hooligans who happened to be in the alley out back…

* * *

The morning of their next meeting with Smecker dawned bright and early. They all met for coffee at Caitlin's apartment before setting out, and soon the couples made their way to the abandoned apartment building where Smecker had told them that he could be found. Being the sneakiest and youngest two of the four, Michelle and Caitlin grinned at one another before quickly making their way up the slowly decaying stairwell, racing for the top. The twins simply shook their heads in amusement before slowly following their lovers' lead.

They didn't even have to knock before the door was opened by a tired-looking Smecker. "Alright, you four. Get your asses in here." He quickly shut the door behind them before directing their attention to the three corkboards he had side-by-side, each completely covered with photos, documents, and everything was laced together by a single string of red yarn, laced around the tacks that held everything in place. "This, ladies and gentlemen" he said, spreading his arms in reference to his work, "is the plot line to our little story." He quickly pointed them to the four metal folding chairs that were set up facing the boards before walking to the front of his little classroom set-up.

"Alright," he began, starting at the board farthest to the left. "Here we have our man: good ole' Danny Black. A home-grown boy from North Carolina who came to the big apple for school. He was a marketing major at NYU." He watched the twins' brows furrow and two sets of blue eyes glanced over to the shortest of the group, who had suddenly gone very still. "Caitlin, didn't you say you went to NYU? A marketing major, correct?"

Caitlin nodded stiffly. "That's right. Your point?"

"Did you by any chance ever run in to our dear target?"

"NYU is a large university, Paul, and my program was by no means unpopular. It's entirely possible that I took multiple classes with him." Smecker's eyes narrowed at the fact that she seemed to be making light of the situation. In fact, her tone made it seem that she was almost amused by the fact that he thought she could possibly be connected to this man.

"Aha," he hummed. "Well, then. Back to the story." He walked back over to the middle cork board, which had pictures of several young men. One of the pictures included Caitlin's laughing face next to a much taller man. The others males on the board varied in their age and ethnicity, but the one thing they had in common was written very boldly in black and tacked to the middle of the board: **MARKETING MAJOR**. The three men in the room once again turned to look at Caitlin, who remained stoic. Michelle's only motion was to reach over and grab her best friend's hand. Smecker moved his gaze from their clasped hands to lock eyes with the suspicious figure in the room. "Still sure you didn't know him?" For once, Smecker had before him an individual that he could not read. Her posture was relaxed and her eyes were blank. Her only movement was to flick her eyes in Michelle's direction when said female leaned over and whispered in Caitlin's ear. In response to whatever was said, Caitlin closed her eyes in resignation and nodded once. She took a deep breath before she spoke.

"If you'll recall correctly, Paul…I never said I didn't know him." Smecker noted she was correct; she had only said it was possible that they had taken classes together. She never denied his acquaintance. "Yes, I knew Danny very well. I suppose I should've—we were together for just over two years." Every head in the room except Michelle's snapped up to stare at the southern woman, but Murphy's was by far the fastest.

It had been unspoken between the two of them that Caitlin's past relationship was not to be mentioned. He had asked about it only once before, and she had gone completely stiff before telling him that it was a touchy subject that she would prefer to avoid. She had said it was of little importance because there was no chance of the man ever coming back into her life. At that recollection, Murphy snorted. _Yeah, he ain't comin' back inta yer life…not directly, anyway_.

Caitlin had gone silent. Smecker motioned for her to continue. Another deep breath and the story came into light.

"Danny and I met in one of our beginning marketing courses. I was an over-achieving sophomore, and he was a junior. He was already ex-military by then, and was several years older than me, despite only being a year ahead of me in school. We were partners for a project and we wound up spending a lot of time together. He was handsome and charming and sweet, so I agreed when he asked me to dinner…

"Over time we just got closer and I would drop almost everything if it meant I could spend time with him. I let him move in to my apartment after he graduated because I wanted to spend more time with him, and I let him live there rent-free because he hadn't found a job yet. Never mind the fact that my apartment wasn't even big enough for just me, it only mattered that I knew he had a place to stay and that it was a place we could be together."

Michelle and Connor noticed that Murphy seemed to be turning an odd shade of green.

"As I got in to my senior year of classes, Danny brought it to my attention that he didn't like the fact that most of the friends I talked about were guys. He said he 'didn't like the thought that other men were lusting after his girl.'" Her fingers raised in air quotes, Caitlin's tone was thick with disdain. "I assured him that nothing was going on with the guys, we were just friends and classmates. They ate lunch with me and walked me home when I had late-night labs. All the things that people told me Danny was supposed to do with me, my guy friends did instead. I never thought it was weird, because Danny told me that he was looking for work during the day, so he couldn't do things like take me to lunch or come get me from labs.

"One night, my friend Brad, who's in that picture with me, walked me home from a night class and gave me a hug when he dropped me off at my door. As soon as Brad had walked away, the door opened and Danny jerked me inside. I could tell immediately that he was drunk…he started yelling at me about being a whore. He said that I was sleeping with all the guys I hung out with, and kept accusing me of being a whore while I was standing there, denying it all and trying to make him calm down. You have to realize that Danny was a good eight or nine inches taller than me; he could dwarf me even when I was wearing heels. So while I was standing there, crying and denying everything he was throwing at me, I was begging him to calm down. All he did was backhand me and tell me that I was a good for nothing bitch and that I needed to learn my lesson and stop fucking around." It wasn't lost on anyone that all the men in the room had immediately tightened their hands into fists, and Murphy looked positively murderous. Caitlin hesitated before continuing.

"The next morning we woke up and all he could do was apologize. He told me that he'd gone out with some of his Frat buddies and that he never wanted to lay a hand on me. He said that it was 'just hard to see me around so many guys instead of at home.' I told him that they were my friends and that he'd have to accept that… And so we went in a cycle. He'd go out and get drunk and I'd come home and get yelled at and tossed around a bit, and then the next day he'd wake up apologizing and he'd buy me flowers and take me to dinner…I never found out where the money was coming from, but I suppose I didn't really care at the time. All I cared about was trying to make sure that he was still the man I loved…but he wasn't. Eventually, I had enough. I was tired of being his chew toy, and so one day after another night of roughhousing, he woke up apologizing again and I told him that I couldn't do it anymore. I told him I was done and that he needed to move out. I went and stayed with Michelle for a couple of days to give him room to get his stuff and go. I just wanted him out of my life, that was all." Caitlin paused, a lump in her throat seemed to make it difficult for her to go on. Michelle tentatively picked up where her friend had left off.

"I went back to the apartment with her about a week later—we figured that would've given him enough time to get his stuff and go. But when we got there and she opened the door, it looked like a tornado had gone through. Luckily she had all her really valuable stuff in storage and her important pictures and everything were with her…the couch was ripped apart and flipped over, the kitchen had been ransacked. He had destroyed all her furniture, and all we could find left of him was a note. 'You're never going to belong to anyone else…Remember that, Caity.'" Michelle cleared her throat. "That was about a year ago."

"All those guys…they're dead?" Caitlin's voice was quiet and small, a shadow of the strong woman they knew. Then again, old skeletons being brought to light tended to make someone feel pretty helpless. Smecker nodded.

"Yeah," he said. "It was quick for all of them. A single shot to the head and they were done." Caitlin nodded, tears beginning to slowly drip down her face. "My best guess is that Daniel figured you might still be in touch with these guys, or thought they might have a thing for you…which meant they were competition that had to be taken out." Caitlin's hands squeezed together in her lap, and she hunched forward slightly, seeming to curl into herself.

"So what now?" she asked, obviously concerned.

"Now, we look for the climax and conclusion of our little story," Smecker said, feeling the slightest bit of sympathy for the girl who had only been hoping to walk away from a less-than-pleasant relationship.

"And so the story goes," Caitlin whispered softly.

"And so the story goes," he agreed.

* * *

Word Count: 2,750

**Dear sweet angels of mercy! Here you have it...the newest chapter. I've been furiously typing this thing out for the last three hours and it's damn near 3,000 words and FINALLY we have introduced Smecker and our little nemesis into the story :) I would like to point out that, while the main OC's of this story (who are my property, kindly get my permission before using them elsewhere) are based off of real people, the evil villain of this story (ALSO my property!) is _not_ based off of anyone. He's your typical super-bad-guy-slash-crazy-ex-boyfriend and is not meant to portray anyone specifically :)**


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